


Six Impossible Things

by middlemarch



Category: Foyle's War
Genre: Breakfast, Domestic, F/M, Family, Gift Giving, Marriage, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 21:19:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11700102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: It was the last gift to arrive and the one that made him feel well and truly married.





	Six Impossible Things

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Delicious](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11689869) by [Kivrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kivrin/pseuds/Kivrin). 



“I didn’t think he still had it,” Andrew mused, folding the blue silk ribbon back and forth absently. The box sat on the somewhat rickety kitchen table they used for every meal, the small flat not running to a proper dining room. It was just big enough—for the brass double bed that nearly filled the bedroom, the settee and armchair that sat in front of a perpetually empty grate, the wardrobe crammed with her wool skirts, his collared shirts, his best suit seeming ready to step out with her one emerald green silk dress.

“He doesn’t have it now. Not anymore, if I’m reading the card he sent properly. But Andrew, whatever is it?” Sam said. Her brow was slightly furrowed and her tousled hair was unbrushed, loose over her shoulders; he was tempted to answer her with a kiss, but that would be suiting himself. His wife had asked a question and she deserved an answer.

“It’s a waffle-iron. It was my mother’s. She didn’t like to cook, not very much, but she never minded making waffles on Sunday morning, before we went to church. I only ever got one, but Dad got as many as he wanted. I was so jealous, a greedy little boy I guess, Dad usually gave me the last bite off his plate and it was the best one, all buttery and soaked in syrup,” Andrew smiled with the memory, how his father would wink and his mother shake her head, careful not to disarrange her hair but unconscious of how the paste drops at her ears trembled and caught the light. 

“You said you didn’t think he still had it,” Sam replied. 

“After, after she died, I never saw it again. We went to Carlo’s for Sunday dinner instead, we just had porridge and tea for breakfast. Or sometimes, Dad made kippers but I hated them. I didn’t think he’d kept it, the waffle-iron. And I wouldn’t have thought he’d give it to us,” Andrew said. He had not tried to kiss her, but Sam moved and he felt her arms around him, comforting and companionable as she had been passionate in the night.

“It doesn’t make you sad to see it, does it?” she asked.

“No. I might have thought it would, but it doesn’t,” he said, realizing it was true as the words left his mouth, as her slender arms tightened around him.

“Shall we make some waffles then? He’s thought of everything, there’s even a recipe card, thank goodness. And Andrew,” Sam said, pausing as she often did before making a declaration, “I promise you shall have as many waffles as you choose, as long as you let me have kippers now and then. Perhaps they won’t seem so loathsome now,” she offered. He laughed, as he so often, so easily did with Sam, at her winsome face and tangled, bright hair, at the prospect of a platter full of waffles, at the image of Sam tucking into a plate of kippers with a blissful expression.

**Author's Note:**

> This was designed to follow Kivrin's lovely "Delicious" and features more waffles, more Foyles, and some Alice-in-Wonderland references "Why, sometimes I've believed six impossible things before breakfast." And kippers for Sam!


End file.
